Cocktails for Three by Madeleine Wickham Read Free Book Online Page B

His ambition was almost frightening in its strength; it drove him like a steamroller, flattening everything else in his life.
    Even now, Candice couldn’t be sure which had been hurt most when she had ended the relationship— his feelings or his pride? He had almost seemed more sorrowful for her than anything else, as though she’d made a foolish mistake which he knew she would soon regret.
    However, so far— a month on— she hadn’t regretted her decision for an instant.
    â€œSo,” she said as they sat down. “What do you want?”
    Justin gave her a tiny smile.
    â€œI wanted to come and see you,” he said, “to make sure you’re absolutely OK about tomorrow.”
    â€œTomorrow?” said Candice blankly. Justin smiled at her again.
    â€œTomorrow, as you know, is the day I take over as acting editor of the
Londoner.
Effectively, I’ll be your boss.” He shook out his sleeves, examined his cuffs, then looked up. “I wouldn’t want any . . . problems to arise between us.” Candice stared at him.
    â€œProblems?”
    â€œI realize it may be a rather difficult time for you,” said Justin smoothly. “My promotion coinciding with the break-up of our relationship. I wouldn’t want you feeling at all vulnerable.”
    â€œVulnerable?” said Candice in astonishment. “Justin, it was me who ended our relationship! I’m fine about it.”
    â€œIf that’s the way you want to see it,” said Justin kindly. “Just as long as there are no bad feelings.”
    â€œI can’t guarantee that,” muttered Candice.
    She watched as Justin swirled his glass of whisky, so that the ice-cubes in it clinked together. He looked as though he were practising for a television ad, she thought. Or a
Panorama
profile: “Justin Vellis: the genius at home.” A giggle rose through her, and she clamped her lips together.
    â€œWell, I mustn’t keep you,” said Justin at last, and stood up. “See you tomorrow.”
    â€œCan’t wait,” said Candice, pulling a face behind his back. As they reached the door she paused, her hand on the latch. “By the way,” she said casually, “do you know if they’ve appointed a new editorial assistant yet?”
    â€œNo they haven’t,” said Justin, frowning. “In fact, to tell you the truth, I’m a bit pissed off about that. Maggie’s done absolutely nothing about it. Just disappears off into domestic bliss and leaves me with two hundred bloody CVs to read.”
    â€œOh dear, poor you,” said Candice innocently. “Still, never mind. I’m sure someone’ll turn up.”

    Roxanne took another sip of her drink and calmly turned the page of her paperback. He had said nine-thirty. It was now ten past ten. She had been sitting in this hotel bar for forty minutes, ordering Bloody Marys and sipping them slowly and feeling her heart jump every time anyone entered the bar. Around her, couples and groups were murmuring over their drinks; in the corner, an elderly man in a white tuxedo was singing “Someone to watch over me.” It could have been any bar in any hotel in any country of the world. There were women like her all over the globe, thought Roxanne. Women sitting in bars, trying to look lively, waiting for men who weren’t going to show.
    A waiter came discreetly towards her table, removed her ashtray and replaced it with a fresh one. As he moved off, she sensed a flicker in his expression— sympathy, perhaps. Or disdain. She was used to both. Just as years of exposure to the sun had hardened her skin, so years of waiting, of disappointment and humiliation, had toughened her internal shell.
    How many hours of her life had she spent like this? How many hours, waiting for a man who was often late and half the time didn’t show up at all? There was always an excuse, of course. Another crisis at work,